


I Would Not Wish Any Companion In The World But You

by isTrash



Series: adventures in creative writing! [5]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Fairy Tale Curses, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Michael Mell, Immortality, M/M, Michael Mell Needs a Hug, Period Typical Attitudes, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-08-20 18:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isTrash/pseuds/isTrash
Summary: “The hair is wrong,” Michael jolted from the sudden noise coming from the other male as he drops down onto the bench, still staring up at the painting of Jeremiah.“Wrong?” Michael found himself asking, stepping forward to stare harder at the painting. “What's wrong with it?”“It's the only difference I can find. Though, I guess that’s hardly fair, considering my hair did darken.”Michael Mell was cast with the curse of immortality as an infant. The curse goes on to say that he would grow up to the age of twenty before he stopped aging at all. The only cure is for him to have met and fallen in love with his soulmate twice. He’s already found Jeremiah once, now all he must do is wait to come across him again.





	I Would Not Wish Any Companion In The World But You

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the man, the myth, the legend, william shakespeare’s, the tempest
> 
> edit Nov 5: i just had someone point a GLARING error out to me and yeah, haha, enjoy the story i guess???

Days hardly mattered for Michael. They all blended into each other and the only discerning feature of each passing moment was the deep melancholy he felt festering in his chest. Flashes of breath-taking blue eyes would occasionally obscure his vision and the Filipino would have to stop what he was doing to give himself a moment.

Sometimes he forgot what  his  laughter had sounded like before  he  had died and been buried under the earth a few centuries ago. That was the curse of immortality he supposed. Yet, Michael had complete and utter faith that Jeremiah would come back to him somehow. His lover had promised him after all.

Centuries ago, Michael had spent his days in blissful peace. His complete ignorance of the curse that had been placed upon his body as a young infant had kept him from living his early years in sorrow. However, as he grew older and learned of his doomed fate, the world turned grey. He watched empires rise and fall, stood by the sides of notable historical figures, and during the Renaissance period he even made a name for himself through his elegant artwork. Of course, it helped that he had a gorgeous muse.

Jeremiah had been the love of his life, still is to this very day, almost six hundred years later. He is the only reason that Michael still struggles through this miserable existence known as life. Sometimes he wished for a cure to his curse. He wanted to be rid of the hardships that centuries of living had brought him, but magic had been extinguished long ago in the fires of human fear and hatred until nothing remained. Back in those times, he had believed that Jeremiah would return to him soon so he had never dared to try and break his curse, but the years dragged on and there was no sign of the blue-eyed man.

Michael was cursed to walk the earth until he found the love his life for a second time. Only once the pair had fallen in love twice in two different time periods would he be set free to age and die with Jeremiah in his second life. The only good thing that came from it was that life was never somber when he had the other by his side. To live and finally die with him in two life times would be worth the centuries of pain that Michael had endured.

* * *

Michael Mell was born on an unusually stormy night sometime in the early month of what is now known as May. He could never truly remember the year of his birth since mankind had not been as concerned about precision back then. Later on, it would be all they care about, but the idea never took for him. Old habits die hard, he supposed. That habit began even as early as his birth when he took his time in being born. He forced his poor mother through many long hours of pitiful labor until he was finally delivered and took his first of a myriad of breaths.

His family had been just above middle class, steadily climbing the ranks to nobility, but with the increase in social stature had come the increase in resentment. A warlock that his parents must have angered in their ascent into nobility visited his family that night and cursed him to live a life of pain and misery. The only way to break the curse was to find true love twice and have it be recuperated. Until then he would grow to the age of twenty and then be stuck in limbo from that moment forward.

His parents, naturally, had had him beheaded. They had believed that his death would break the curse, but when his twentieth birthday came and passed they had found that it had done nothing of the matter. The moment the curse had been uttered, Michael had been doomed.

When he was still young he had been almost happy with the blight on his soul, however, the feeling had quickly passed. His parents grew old. They withered and died, and yet Michael stayed the same. He was forced to flee the small, sleepy town of his birth in fear that the townspeople would unravel the truth of his immortality. A few had begun to suspect, and he had even heard conversation that they would have tied him to a heavy rock to sink him to the bottom of the ocean, never to see the surface again, had he not fled when he had.

Back in those days there was no such thing as a social security number to keep track of where a man was born or how old he should be. One had the freedom to wander where ever he so pleased and he had taken full advantage of it.

Michael had brought many women to bed, seducing them and loving them the way a man had been expected to, but the nights spent with them had never been passionate, and neither had he ever enjoyed them. He was almost the epitome of a modern one night stand bad boy that all the girls wanted, but he yearned for nothing from them.

It almost seemed hopeless to him that he would ever be free of his curse.

* * *

Michael liked working inside of the small, art gallery on the edges of New Jersey. Hardly anyone ever visits the place, but his own artwork is hung up in the Renaissance section serving as a constant reminder of Jeremiah’s beauty, should he ever happen to forget. Besides, being surrounded by such vivid depictions of history from so many different time periods has a way of setting his fraying nerves at ease. It has a way of making him feel somewhat at home in the ever changing world around him.

When he had first come to New Jersey he immediately took on the position as a custodian. Not because he particularly enjoys the idea of cleaning up after people, but no one really looks twice at them. He can blend in and become forgotten as just another member of the ghost staff, always there, but no one really remembers what he looks like or what his name is. It gives him the chance to stay in one place for much longer than he normally would.

Sometimes he finds himself just sitting on the bench in front of the painting of Jeremiah, letting his eyes roam over the pale expanse of the man’s skin. He can almost remember the faint music that had been playing in the background, the smells of the bustling baker just down the street, the smooth paint lines dragging from his brush across the slowly coloring canvas. Jeremiah’s legs were covered by a thick, velvety emerald green sheet that complemented his eyes in the most alluring ways.

However, there were some things that could not be captured in the painting. The way Jeremiah had thrown his head back in laughter, warm blue eyes sparkling with joy and unabashed love. The way he had looked so alive, so delicate yet firm wrapped in his bedsheets after spending the whole day lazily lounging with Michael. No, the painting could never do him justice.

Today, a man is standing in front of the painting, flashing blue eyes observing the smooth lines that Michael himself had painted hundreds of years ago. Brown curly hair falls across the pale expanse of his skin. His hand slowly and shakily reaches forward, tracing the words etched into the golden plaque, following the inscription Michael knew by heart.

_Mon Amour, 1436_

_Michelangelo George Mell_

His eyes follow the man as his eyes slowly move further up, hovering slightly above the folds of the green fabric painted into the canvas, tracing the curves and dips with awe.

“The hair is wrong,” Michael jolted from the sudden noise coming from the other male as he drops down onto the bench, still staring up at the painting of Jeremiah.

His own eyes travel up to rest on the light gold locks that fan out across the white pillows around his lover, framing the young man's face as he lays back. How could the hair be wrong? He had spent many painstaking hours perfecting it. Making it look like Jeremiah’s hair so much that he felt he could run his fingers through it like he used to when the man was still alive.

“Wrong?” Michael found himself asking, stepping forward to stare harder at the painting. “What's wrong with it?”

“It's the only difference I can find,” Michael’s brows furrow together at the man's reply and slowly his body turns to face the stranger. “Though, I guess that's hardly fair, considering my hair did darken.”

Chestnut brown meets warm blue and the breath is stolen from his lungs because the man standing before him is no doubt Jeremiah. Oh, how long he has waited for this moment.

* * *

The sweltering summer of 1428 had pushed most of Paris’ inhabitants from their homes to visit local fountains and waterways. Women could have been seen carefully hiking up skirts to place their feet into the water and men had stripped from the harsh confines of their thin shirts to expose skin to the sun. Michael himself had stood in front of a fountain in a thin white shirt, the laces undone to show the sun-kissed skin of his chest.

He had planned to visit the Louvre in his free time, but the idea must have crossed the minds of the hundreds of other people in France on that day because it was terribly busy and there was no way he could receive admission to enter. Instead, he was left to admire the artwork from afar.

He would always look back on that day with fond affection. When he had turned to leave the fountain a man tripped over Michael’s feet and had fallen into the glittering water with a strangled scream and a splash. A few girls had screeched in indignation and thrown their skirts down to cover their ankles as they rushed off. 

Hardly caring for the dames, Michael rushed forward to help the soaked man from the water, apologizing profusely. Of course his clumsiness had put him in a situation like that. He really shouldn't have been surprised.

His word had caught in his throat when the other had flashed a dazzling smile at him, looking up through thick eyelashes so Michael was drowning in an ocean of blue.

“Beautiful…” A deep, red blush covered the other man’s already overheated cheeks, making both men drop their tentative gazes at Michael’s broken mumble.

“Not so bad yourself, stranger,” The man risked a smile at him before gently pushing a piece of damp hair from Michael’s face. “My apologies, I must have messed up your hair when I fell.”

“It was my fault!” The dark skinned man rushed to defend, cheeks heating up in embarrassment from the touch. “I should be the one apologizing, I tripped you!”

Joyous laughter had rung through the air around him. It seeped into his skin and brought him to life in a way he hadn't felt since he was a young boy. God, the man was beautiful with his high cheekbones and ocean colored eyes that had reflected the sun in golden speckles. He had never doubted for a moment that the stranger was the one he had been waiting for and would continue to wait for. Whatever it took.

“I'm Jeremiah, by the way.” He had flashed another bright smile.

“Michael.”

* * *

Michael felt an overwhelming urge to move towards the other man, to touch him, kiss him, hold him once more, but he knew that would hardly be well received if the other man had no recollection of him. The thought sent a stinging jolt of melancholy through his soul even while his lips curled up into a smile. After all those years of searching they happened to run into each other once more. He should have known that he would only find Jeremiah when he least expected it. The other man just had a knack for that kind of thing.

He could deal with his lover not remembering him. They met and fell in love from nothing before and he was positive they could do it again. They will do it again, because Michael needed it. Not to break the stupid curse, but because he only ever feels like he is breathing properly when Jeremiah is stood beside him.

His eyes travel all across this new version of someone he had once known every detail about. Jeremiah’s eyes still sparkle in their multi-colored glory, bright blue with flecks of green and hazel splashed around the center because of course he didn’t have ordinary blue eyes. No, he was much more special than that. His skin was still white as snow, almost translucent, so one could trace the veins just beneath the surface with ease. His freckles were still splattered all over his face, like droplets of golden honey. His hair was the only majorly different change, a change from golden hair to caramel brown curls.

Overall, Jeremiah still looked absolutely, “Beautiful…”

“Not so bad yourself stranger.” The words almost make Michael’s knees collapse under him because there is no way that Jeremiah does not remember him. Not when he just repeated those same damn words that had played in Michael’s head for hundreds of years. God it hurt to be so close to him and yet so far away.

“Um, u-unless you were talking about the art… then in that case, er, yeah it is very beautiful. Although, I think it kind of looks like me which would mean you’re still kind of complimenting me, so thank you? Oh no, I’ve probably ruined any chance at you thinking I'm cool.” Michael laughs softly in amusement, positively beaming as the other male drops his face into his hands to hide the crimson blush that has made its way across his cheeks. “I’m Jeremy, by the way, I don’t know if you really care, but… yeah, now you know!”

His whole world feels like it’s shaking and with a shuddering breath he forces his name out in an answer, “Michael.”

He cannot believe they are finally back together.

* * *

Michael and Jeremiah shared everything with each other. They shared their heart, mind, body and soul. Even Michael’s most guarded secret, his immortality.

As hard as the two tried to disregard that small fact, it had become harder and harder to ignore the older Jeremiah had become. At first Michael hadn't seen it as a problem. Age didn't bother him in any way shape or form. He was content to watch his lover grow old and then find him once more, but it wasn't age that tore the two of them apart.

Only twelve years had passed since they first met, but the two were deeply and irrevocably in love. Jeremiah was only twenty-nine, but he was deteriorating, fast. The Black Death had grabbed hold of his lover with its strong skeletal hands and never let go, pushing the man closer and closer to death.

It had started as a small fever, but the weather had been warm so neither one had payed the symptom much mind. Of course Jeremiah was warm, who wouldn't be? Then came the cough that punched the man in the gut until he was coughing up red and crying from the pain. They had begun to fear then.

Both men were not too terribly poor so they had sent for a doctor only to be left with the burden of bad news and no hope. The Black Death tore through Europe mercilessly, and it seemed Jeremiah would be her next victim.

There came a day when Jeremiah could no longer stand or stay awake for more than an hour. The fatigue and abdominal pain had become too much for him to do much more than lay in bed and shiver despite the heavy drops of sweat rolling down his face. Some days, the young man didn't even know who Michael was, and he would scream in terror if he came too close. Those were the hard days. The days when Michael just wanted Jeremiah to die already so he wouldn't have to suffer anymore.

There were some good days too. Days when Jeremiah stayed awake a little longer than usual and would listen to Michael read to him and talk about the weather, or the baker down the street who gave them free fresh bread because they had always been his favorite customers. On those days, they would steal a kiss or two because Michael couldn't get sick and they missed the gentle press of their lips together. Those were the days that he had hope that Jeremiah would somehow live.

The day Jeremiah died had been a good day, full of soft laughter and gentle kisses because they missed each other despite spending every day curled around each other in Jeremiah’s sick bed. They didn't talk about his illness, they had chosen to ignore it all together as they normally did on days like that.

It was Jeremiah who had broken their little reverie, looking the epitome of an ill and dying man with those tear filled blue eyes. “I hope you don't have to wait long for me. I would feel terrible if you were left alone again for many years, just waiting.”

The smile slid off of Michael’s face and he had gripped the warm hand in his like he could crush the bad thoughts before they could reach him. It hadn't worked. “Don't say that. You're going to live for much longer. You've been having more good days recently, so that has to be a good sign, right?”

He almost sobbed at the pitying look Jeremiah had given him. His words were a lie and they both recognized that. It had been weeks since Jeremiah had had a day where he felt well enough to carry on a conversation for longer than a few strained minutes. “Please, don't shut the world out when I'm gone. Take care of yourself. I know you don't need to eat or worry about dying, but you still feel the pain of neglecting yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can and then next time you won't be left alone. Okay?”

Mitchell sobbed now, hot tears rolled down his cheeks, splashing down on the soiled bed sheets. He wanted nothing more than to die with Jeremiah. How could he live without him?

“Kiss me, please. Just one last kiss.” How could he deny the man when he begged him like that? Michael leaned forward and pressed their lips together once more in a much more passionate kiss than they had exchanged since Jeremiah had grown ill.

‘I love you’ was breathed against their mouths, a constant reminder that the sickness had never broken that. 

The skin that had been constantly on fire beneath his touch gradually had grown cold and Michael’s cries had increased until his head had just lain on Jeremiah’s unmoving chest. 

He was alone once more.

* * *

Jeremy had kept his promise to him and Michael had never felt more grateful in his life. The man standing before him is the man he will love until they both grow old and die. This time he will not be left alone for centuries more. This will be his last stretch of life and he is okay with that if he gets to spend it with Jeremy.

His Jeremy, who is gently curling his pale fingers into Michael’s slicked back hair and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He wants to chase him and capture his mouth with his like they used to because he feels like a dying man who can finally breathe.

“Michael,” He slowly looks up to meet Jeremy’s glimmering blue eyes and a smile spreads across his face. Jeremy’s eyes only ever glimmer like that when he has done something he is proud of, one of his many endearing qualities. “I promised you, didn't I? It's good to see you again and this time I won't leave without you, I promise.”

A watery laugh explodes from Michael’s chest and he falls forward into Jeremy’s arms. 

It feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m sick as i was writing this, it’s probably bad, so just let me know if there were any errors. i’ve been watching a lot of dan and phil as i wrote this sooo... idk they’re p cool. also, i can relate to how jeremy felt during the black plague, i feel like i’ve been coughing up my lungs ;p


End file.
